Viva la Vida Asturiana!

Distanced by kilometers of high plains and jagged mountain ranges, Asturias is not your typical Spain. No sun dried tomatoes nor Mediterranean breezes; flamenco music is only heard while occasionally surfing to the Andalucia channel on Spanish cable. It seems to rain more here than Eugene and Seattle combined, and yet Northern Spaniards share a deep-rooted pride for their region. One distinct from the dry, hot hills of Southern Spain, or the wild winds and waves of the Levante (Mediteranian coast). A pride formed by rich history and landscape, and 7 centuries of perseverance while the rest of the country was under Muslim rule. By unique culture, food, music and dance. There is a reason why this region is not only patriotic, but ¨puebliotic¨ (patriotism for the small towns).

This is the Spain we have grown to love, observing every moment, smiling at its quirks and reveling in this northern lifestyle. Follow us on a day in Asturias and see for yourself the diversity Spain holds.

Saturday morning we arise leisurely at 10am, aware that the empty streets will have Oviedo looking like a ghost town until around then anyway. It's weekend, and most everyone was either cenando (eating dinner) or tapa-munching until the wee hours of the morning. We head to our favorite neighborhood cafe to visit with Rafa, the owner, and have an espresso and Spanish Omelet (egg and potatoes served on fresh bread). We're introduced to a friend of Rafa's, who proceeds to give us a quick life-story. This Spaniard, like many, is very forthcoming and willing to share intimate details with strangers -- it's always easy to find a friendly conversation. At times, we have to fiercely compete to get a word in edgewise, as our new friend talks dramatically as if he was an actor on an un-microphoned stage, an audience of 100 people listening. Hand gestures fly left and right while over-exaggerated facial expressions assure us that it “really IS going to rain tomorrow, hombre!”

A young African man enters the bar, passing slowly by each table with a handful of pirated CDs. As he approaches us he eagerly speaks English and asks us where we're from. He's from Senegal. (We foreigners have a keen eye for our own.) He seems happy just to talk, share his story, and quietly allude to Spain's attitudes towards many foreigners and the difficulty he's had making friends and a living. According to an article we read in El Pais, 50 percent of Spaniards believe that racism still exists. Ecuatorianos, Chinos, Northern Africans, all living and working side by side with the rest of the population, and yet remaining in their own circles, frequenting Latin American or Africa-owned bars.

Social life is one of the most important aspects of Spain, and very easy to comment on, as it differs greatly from our own. It exists in cafes or outdoor Plazas; rarely do you see the inside of an apartment or house because socializing goes on almost exclusively in public spheres. Occasional lunch and dinner dates take place at home, but Spanish are also eager to meet for coffee or food at a bar. It is because of this that, as leave Rafa's and head downtown, we see multitudes of people gathered around wooden barrels in front of restaurants drinking sidra and socializing. They are all dressed to the nine's, even the children playing soccer in the Plaza in mini sportscoats and knee highs, and the elders looking classy walking arm in arm: the grandfathers with their canes and berets and the grandmothers fresh from the hair salon in floor length fur coats. They seem to always be out walking their tiny dogs, sitting on benches talking, or pushing their grandkids in strollers. Daycare hardly exists with the emphasis Spanish families place on closeness.

How else to pass the day but to dar un paseo (take a stroll) through one of Oviedo's many parks when the Spanish work day shuts down for a three hour siesta every day, only to continue after 5. A slight inconvenience that pales in comparison to that of the south when the heat forces things closed for six hours after 12. Trying to find a bank open after two or pay an electricity bill, one quickly encounters the immense bureaucracy that exists due in large part to the Spanish “manana philosophy” which we all know and love.

Our stomachs growl as the clock strikes 2pm and we hop the train to the campo (the country) for a Turkey Day-esque lunch with some colleagues. With so little food eaten prior to almuerzo (lunch), Spaniards are all about this 3-course, mid-day meal that they consider the most important of the day. We are generously overwhelmed with meaty ensembles of chorizo and jamon, accompanied by famous Asturian cheese and wine. It amazes us to witness the sheer amount of red meat and bread that is consumed here, and more importantly, how little it affects their remarkably good physical form, perhaps attributed to a combination of a non-sedentary lifestyle, non-processed beef and simply the evolution of their genes. What ends up being a four hour test of endurance on our stomachs accompanied by good conversation usually, ends with cafe and another difficult, yet rewarding, paseo to “bajar la comida” (lower the food) to a nearby vista or orchard.

We head to the supermercado on our way home to pick up food for Sunday, Spain's Day of Rest, and for the potluck we plan to have at our piso that evening. Along the way, we pass a bar fumigated by cigarette smoke and kids playing around on the floor (it's impossible to leave a bar without smelling like you've smoked a few packs); another with card-players, not a women in sight, because they're all out in high-heels window-shopping (a favorite Spanish pastime); and kids with their noses pressed against the window of a meat shop, staring as if it were a candy store. The hanging ham legs are their most prized possession; each bar displays a half a dozen proudly above the liquor rack, and during the Christmas season homes are filled with the pungent scent of these cured treats. All Spaniards consider it blasphemous to leave the Peninsula without having savored the waxy slices, one of their four vices, including smoking, drinking and coffee.

Strolling the supermercado's aisles, we find ourselves at a loss for what to prepare at that night's potluck. We've yet to master the Spanish culinary art of creating delicious food with such limited ingredients. Half of each aisle is devoted to at least 7 brands of the following: canned sardines, tuna, olives, noodles, oil and vinegar. But we applaud the aisle and a half of affordable and varied Spanish wine. There is no such thing as a sandwich to go or a king-sized coffee in plastic cup, something we really appreciate about this culture. Ethnic food is seriously limited, but we default to fajitas, one of the few season kits available (we miss Thai, Oriental and Indian spices like no other)! As we order our chicken sliced just the way we want it, the butcher engages us in a lengthy conversation, and we're reminded that it's impossible to leave a store without having one with a fruit, meat or fish assistant.

Our friends arrive at 9:30 bearing Spanish tortilla, croquetas and empanada. We eat close to 11, the average dinner time on weekends (10pm weekdays). They envy our parent-free apartment, and tell us how much they admire us living independently at such a “young age”. The majority of Spanish young adults live with their parents until their early 30's, delaying the inevitable responsibilities (such as cooking and doing laundry) that come with adulthood. Not to mention paying rent. Fighting exhaustion, we head out at 1am in an effort to keep up with their limitless energy. We even spot an old woman walking her dog! It's not uncommon to see young kids out with their parents until 2 or 3am, so you can easily imagine why teens and 20-somethings stay out until sunrise. It's in their blood. They take the night drinking mildly until 3 or 4am when they inevitably end up at a disco and begin the locura (craziness). We dance for a while but soon become overwhelmed with tiredness due to lack of conversation and repetitive reggaeton. “Why are you leaving so soon?” they ask, having taken siestas and rested all day preparing for the nightlife. Walking home from Old Town we avoid the street cleaner, who may drench us with his firefighter hose if he doesn't look out. Oviedo receives the “golden broom” award for it's each year for it's sparkling stone sidewalks, while portions of the rest of Spain fight for water.

Living among these differences is what makes our time here enjoyable, yet at times challenging and rewarding. We bask in this rich culture and all its aspects, soaking up each remaining moment before we head home in June.

To see post-Morocco photos of the past few months (including crazy Carnaval) check out:
http://picasaweb.google.com/clapoma/VivaLaVidaAsturiana#